


This Is Our World Now

by ShikiKyuu



Series: Immortal Winchesters [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon, Blood and Gore, Bottom Dean, Dark Winchesters, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Human Bobby, Non-Human Dean, Non-Human John, Non-Human Sam, Screw Destiny, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-05-22 00:58:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6064900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShikiKyuu/pseuds/ShikiKyuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchester brothers were destined for tragedy alongside their loved ones, but with the intervention of a divine figure, destiny was irrevocably changed.</p><p>This was their world now.</p><p>...But it seems someone forgot to inform Azazel and crew of this little development.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. S01E01 Pilot

 

 **31 October 2005**  
**Early Morning**  
**Palo Alto, California**

Three years since they had been together, not counting those brief, secret visits away from prying eyes. The thought of being officially reunited with Sam left him feeling afloat in giddiness.

Inside the Impala, Dean flipped open the sun visor and smiled at his reflection, enjoying the sight of his youthful, unwrinkled features that hadn’t aged since he turned twenty-two, credited to the immortality he appreciated every time he was cut down, dead.

He was imperishable with his ability of regeneration after death, though he could do without the sudden awakening before he was completely put back together. He still remembered that hunt for a powerful poltergeist that had him falling off a building, leaving his head, back and legs splattered across the concrete, as Sam said to him after his revival, albeit with more grisly detailing. When he woke from the throws of death, there was nothing but agony and his brother’s voice. The excruciating sensation of skin and muscle reknitting bit by bit was indescribable, but with the end result being his unmarred body, he couldn’t really complain.

Dean took one last look in the mirror before exiting his beloved vehicle and practically skipping to the intended apartment door. He glanced around while picking the lock and quietly cheered as the door moved inward.

Closing it behind him, he tip-toed forward only to be tackled by two hundred pounds of muscle plus supernatural strength.

His head slammed against the floor and hands wrapped around his neck, beginning to squeeze until his attacker’s eyes adapted to the darkness. The death grip released, palms setting on both sides of his head.

“Dean?”

“Sammy!” he screeched, threading his fingers through brown hair and pushing down, connecting their lips with unbridled eagerness. His Sammy gave in for a few joyous seconds before forcefully pulling away from his fingers.

“What the hell are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to arrive till morning.”

“Yeah, but if we went along with the plan to a tee, life would be so boring. Live a little,” he advocated with an obstinate pout.

Sam raised a hand, probably to smack the side of his head for the comment, but a woman’s voice called out his little brother’s name, halting the action. They stood from the floor, Sam introducing her with a well-practiced smile that hid the indifference he truly felt for the human.

He complimented the blonde’s skimpy sleepwear, leering at her with his own practiced smile that conveyed nothing but lewd interest. He despised this part of the act, the need to be someone he wasn’t- a person filled with self-hatred, drowning himself in sex and booze while taking on life-threatening hunts. Had he not been changed, he would have eventually become this person, and knowing that disgusted him.

He went through the motions of talking with the blonde and Sam as he recalled the hunt back in 1999 that saved his and Sammy’s life from being controlled by the demons of hell and the bastard who murdered their mother.

It had only been their second hunt together without dad hovering over their shoulders, and the news articles and interviews had led them to an abandoned warehouse, facing an – at the time – unknown, venomous creature that bit and killed a quarter of the small town’s population. It revealed itself to be a simple green snake at first, but immediately evolved into a massive serpent-feline like hybrid that managed to inject its venom through Sam’s wrist.

The pained cry his sixteen year old brother let out almost stopped his heart, and filled with fear and adrenaline, tried sucking out the venom – an act Sam would later tell him was never a helpful solution – and ended up swallowing it when the creature attacked once more.

He didn’t remember much after that, the pain so great that he began clawing at his own throat, screaming and coughing out globs of blood, his brother trying and failing to stop his self-mutilation. Then there was nothing, having shot himself in the head, finally free from the never-ending torture of burning, boiling from the inside.

He reawakened from his first death, aching and delirious, crying for his unconscious brother across from him.

He didn’t know anything then, but when the creature – who revealed itself to be a goddess of another dimension – injected the venom into Sam’s bloodstream, the demon blood from yellow-eyes and Her fatal venom mixed and transformed his little brother into a new kind of supernatural being, and he, having ingested the mixture, was changed as well.

Dean looked up at his Sammy and grinned happily, for they wouldn’t be in this apartment, all-knowing, if not for their near-omniscient Goddess who knew the future of their universe the second she arrived. And they, being under Her rule, were immune to the machinations of this world.

Not even the Fates could touch them.

God and other deities, demons, angels, shapeshifters, prophets, etcetera- all were blind to the truth. They would only see the events that _should_ have taken place, but never _what really has_ and _what will_ take place due to their Goddess’s intervention.

Now, they were no longer pawns in Azazel’s game

“Anyway,” he chirped after some suggestive comment, “I gotta talk to your boyfriend about some family stuff.”

Sam dismissed the blonde. “Go back to sleep, Jess. I’ll be a while.”

Once they were alone, he was led into the kitchen where Sam flicked his wrist, opening and closing the fridge with his telekinesis, two bottles of water floating into their awaiting hands.

“I missed your abilities,” he mourned aloud.

His brother’s telekinetic powers had taken a year to fully develop to where he could lift anything with a mere look, though he preferred more dramatic methods, such as a wave of the hand. His precognition abilities, on the other hand, were uncontrollable and headache-inducing, and for the most part, ignored.

As supernatural creatures liberated from human morality, they had no desire to help people. Rather, they hunted other supernatural beings for their own enjoyment, as well as to keep Azazel and his crew unawares. Anyone dying in Sam’s visions were soon forgotten. Dean couldn’t begin to estimate the number of humans they either let die or killed in the crossfire during their hunts ( _he didn’t bother counting the ones he personally killed every few weeks_ ), and honestly, he didn’t really give a damn.

All he and his brother cared about now was their father and Uncle Bobby.

Sam scoffed. “You just hate getting things yourself. Now, back on point,” he muttered. “Tomorrow we’ll go on that hunt for the ghost, and when we get back, you-know-who should be in flames on the ceiling. From there, we’ll follow the coordinates She’s given us and our father and go from there.”

“Aye, aye mon capitaine!” he saluted playfully, grinning at Sam’s exasperated groan. He continued, serious this time, “Have you spoken to dad about all this?”

“He doesn’t like it, of course, but what does it matter? He’ll become one of us, eventually.” His brother shrugged, uncaring.

Their father had been understandably devastated learning of their transition, but when the truth behind Mary’s murder – plus the little tidbit about their love, that it had been initiated by a damn cupid’s arrow – was revealed by their Goddess, he did a one-eighty.

John Winchester, who had been nothing but a revenge-seeking, neglectful alcoholic, was suddenly a sober man scheming along with them, because if there was anything their father wanted more than Azazel’s death, it was the demon watching all his carefully crafted plans come apart like the threads of torn fabric, unravelling one by one until there was nothing left but John pointing the Colt at Azazel’s forehead.

He recalled the moment his dad asked to become like them, to be immortal like his children so he’d be by their sides forever. Immortality was not a difficult decision, especially when he learned how Heaven was operated, nothing but a repetitive cycle of happy memories with just yourself as the real soul. A lonely eternity.

Currently he was still human, but as his Sammy said, their father would join them soon. All they needed was a vile of Sam’s blood and Azazel escaping a certain secluded cabin, the place they had once been destined to leave and then be crashed into by a demon-driven truck, taken into a hospital where dad would’ve sold his soul to save his dying eldest.

A year from now, he would no longer be burdened by his morality. He’d be free, just like him and Sam.

Dean ceased his reminiscing when Sam shoved him against a counter, setting aside their cooling waters.

After all, he didn’t need to think for this kind of thing.

 

 **2 November 2005**  
**Late Evening**  
**Outside Sam’s Apartment Building**

Dean watched as the building before him began to burn, the smoky flames seeming to reach far across to where he stood in front of the Impala despite the hot, wild flares of red and orange that had yet to spread down or up to other apartment rooms. He had anticipated a long waiting period for the fire to begin, but the radio voices that drummed after Sam’s exit went to static and the hands of his watch halted in motion, and he knew it was time.

A bulky black figure burst out of the flaming, singed door, sprinting down the flights of stairs as if Lucifer was hovering over his shoulder. When it got closer to him, the panicked run devolved to an apathetic walk until his little brother was standing beside him, an annoyed, downturned brow creasing his forehead.

“I’m driving,” he asserted, hand raised expectantly.

For a second Dean thought of snubbing the order, but he’d long since learned to obey the Alpha when in one of his bad moods. So with a reluctance he hid behind a long, drawn out nod, he handed the keys to his Baby over, wishing not for the first time that his older brother instincts would fade, if only to avoid the taller man’s ire.

But when he unconsciously reached up and ruffled Sam’s hair, he took special note of his brother’s tiny smile, remembering that their sibling dynamic would always have a place amongst the Alpha bond and their romantic relationship.

They jumped in the car and shut her doors, Dean sliding in a cassette tape with a wry grin.

_I’m On The Highway To Hell_

“Not gonna stay for the funeral?”

“I’m a grieving boyfriend out for revenge,” Sam replied, monotone.

“And you never had sex with her, right?”

“Of course not. It’d be like fucking a cheap pillow.”

“Ooo, you know what it’s like with a pillow?” he teased, head leaning against his brother’s shoulder.

His Sammy shoved him away, rolling his eyes.

“…Shuddup.”

 


	2. S01E02 Wendigo

Dean had hoped this hunt would be a quickie. They still had their bags after the wendigo stole their companions’ gear and wore flare guns on their belts, prepared to torch the motherfucker. Unfortunately, the creature was too fast for a perfect shot, and with all the damn trees surrounding them, they were at an even bigger disadvantage, and using the hunter Roy as bait had been a complete waste, the evening shadows having camouflaged the wendigo.

As he and Sam led the sister and brother further into the woods, he noticed a significant increase in broken branches and bloody, claw-marked trees. He glanced at Sam and nodded toward the trees, receiving an answering nod before they both halted in their steps.

“Why’d you stop?” the woman asked, her worried shout ringing in their ears.

They responded simultaneously, “It’s a trap.”

There was an abrupt growling coming from above. He looked up, rustling leaves rising in volume until there was an abrupt thump and two screams behind them. Sam’s voice spoke up, calm, “We should probably-” Dean turned to see Roy’s corpse, “-run.”

They ran then, but were immediately separated.

Sam rushed to Ben’s tripped form, picking him up by the jacket’s collar. “Come on, kid.”

“S-Sorry,” was the hurried apology.

But before they began moving again, he noticed Dean and the sister had continued running, for they were nowhere in sight. Sam cursed and began hauling the kid by the arm.

“Hey, that hurts!”

“Deal with it.”

With Dean, the wendigo was prowling around him and Haley, the rotting stench of its breath making his nose scrunch in repugnance. He tried reaching for his flare gun, but the moment his hand neared the grip, the creature snarled.

He pushed the girl behind him, scowling. “Sure, now you appear. Oh well, now’s better than never.”

With a savage grin, he allowed his prey to see its true adversary.

The wendigo flinched back as it witnessed Dean’s eyes bleed from green to a glowing mix of purple and blue, the spherical pupil narrowing into a thin, sharp line like a cat.

His vision sharpened, the dull colors of the forest saturating to vivid greens and browns, the outlines shimmering white, every little detail standing out: the veins of each leaf, the sap on shredded, broken up bark, the pricks of surrounding moss, the scattering rodents, and even the insects fluttering with clear or patterned wings.

“You – not – human. What are you?” came the multitude of voices from its ghastly form, the last phrase a singular, terrified, masculine screech.

“There is no name for what I am,” he replied, prepared for an assault at any moment. “But we do share similar origins. I was once human like you. But unlike you, I still retain my human appearance.”

They circled each other, Haley’s shaky and confused mutter of “Dean?” being drowned out by the constant growling.

It attacked.

He barely managed to evade the sweep of claws, dropping to the ground and rolling in a half circle before returning to his feet, aiming a swift roundhouse kick at its open back. The attack landed, sending the creature stumbling from the weight of his inhuman strength, but recovered, twisting around and swinging its claws in a wide arc. He jumped back before it connected, but though they were matched in strength, he knew it was much faster. In just a split second, the wendigo flashed forward again, stretching its arm out and extending those five, jagged talons.

Right before the attack hit, he thought, _fuck me sideways._

The claws sliced through Dean’s stomach, blood and innards splattering across the dirt and grass below as he slammed against a wide tree with a sickening crunch, his dead body collapsing face-forward.

 

* * *

 

“No…” was Ben’s horrified whisper.

Sam took in the puddle of gore and intestines with disinterest, walking up to the one tree that had a deep indentation with blood at the base of the trunk. He shook his head – an irritated gesture – as he realized Dean fought the creature and lost. “We underestimated its agility. There’s no point having the strength if you don’t have the speed,” he breathed, his whisper being carried like a wisp in the breeze.

He then noticed a trail of skittles and smirked, Dean’s jolly tone echoing in his head.

_No one can resist the taste of the rainbow, Sammy!_

“At the end of the rainbow, you will find a pot of gold.”

“What?” Ben asked, coming up to his side.

His eyes followed the colorful line and said, “Your sister is fine, but it seems Dean is injured.”

The reply contained concern and sympathy, “Sam, I don’t think Dean is-”

Ben was ignored.

“Let’s go.”

Soon they were inside the wendigo’s cave, an abandoned mine that had been marked by a no trespassing sign. A few minutes into the pitch black lair, they heard a monstrous rumbling, and immediately clicking the flashlight off, Sam pressed Ben against the wall and covered his mouth with an arm. The creature entered a different tunnel, allowing them to continue forward, only to then fall through the floor, their only warning being the creaking floorboards.

They landed in a pile of bones, Ben on his backside and Sam landing on his feet.

The boy looked up, amazed. “How’d you do that!?” He then glanced below and shouted in disgust.

“Stop yelling,” Sam demanded.

“Sorry.”

After apologizing, Ben noticed his sister, suspended by her wrists from the ceiling.

Sam grabbed a knife from his bag and handed it to Ben. “Get your sister down.” He then went to his brother’s motionless form, bending down to check for a pulse that he knew would not exist. His other hand lifted Dean’s torn shirt, and he watched as the fatal wound healed, muscle and skin mending under the mess of gore. He pulled the shirt back down, then brushed away the dribble of blood that had escaped the side of Dean’s blue-tinted lips.

He heard Ben call his name as he brushed his fingers through Dean’s short, blond strands.

Sam finally stood from his crouch, deigning a look in the other sibling’s direction to see an upset Ben nearing him and a frightened Haley.

“Ben, get away from him!” she snapped.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“They’re not human!”

Ben looked between her and Sam, scoffing. “Haley, they _are_ human. They’re just like us.”

Sam stepped forward just for the girl to crawl backwards, Ben staying in place. He sighed.

“Come on, Sam,” the boy begged, “tell her she’s being ridiculous.”

She started to scream. “I’m not making this up, Ben! Dean said himself that he wasn’t human- when he was fighting that monster. Now, please! Get away from him!”

“Sam, why aren’t you saying anything?”

He brought his index fingers to his temples, trying to alleviate his headache. Their voices were grating on his nerves. He sighed again, dropping his hands and shrugging. “There’s no point. Your sister is right. I’m not human. Nor is Dean.”

Ben stumbled backwards suddenly. “Th-Then what are you?”

“There is no name for what I am,” he mirrored his brother’s response to the same question, indifferent to the boy’s reaction. “There are only two of us, after all.”

Haley struggled to her feet, pulling her little brother back. “You mean only one of you!” she snarled. “You gonna kill us now, blame us for Dean’s death?”

Ben began freaking out. “But we didn’t do anything!”

He slowly rolled his eyes as they continued inching away every time he neared them. “Stop freaking out. I’m not going to kill you.” Sam briefly looked back at Dean. “And you’re wrong. There are still two of us.”

Haley faltered, but only for a moment. “You checked his pulse! I _saw_ him get gutted. I heard that horrible sound as he hit that tree. How am I _wrong_?”

Before Sam could bother to answer, there was a deafening roar behind him. He spun around, backing up and bringing the paralyzed humans with him as the wendigo jumped off the ceiling and landed in front of them. He reached for his weapon only to be snarled at, then attempted to obtain it using his telekinesis.

He wasn’t given the chance.

A sudden, loud gasp was followed by an agonizing cry.

Sam smirked just as Dean’s pained voice rung out with quick words. “Hey, ugly! Guess what?”

The wendigo turned enough for Sam to see his lover pointing the flare gun at their enemy, eyes gleaming an eerie purplish-blue.

“I. Win,” was declared as the trigger was pulled, sending the wendigo aflame and shrieking until it became nothing but ash.

Dean grinned at him. “Do I getta kiss, Sammy?” He then cursed, “Shit…” and collapsed to his knees, holding his stomach.

Sam chuckled, directing the Collin siblings to their other brother while ambling to his own brother, kneeling.

“Still wounded?”

“It’s just a little cut now.”

“And your back?”

Supernatural eyes faded back to green as the hidden wound finished healing. “Pretty sure it was fixed before my stomach.”

Sam poked Dean’s cheek. “Must have been quite a wakeup call.”

“You know better than anybody that I’ve had worse,” he chirped.

Sam nodded. “I do.” Then smirked. “Still want that kiss?”

Dean snorted, disbelieving. “You? Asking?”

They returned to their feet together, Dean placing his hands on Sam’s shoulders and leaning up to connect their mouths, impatient for the intimacy they’d been resisting since this hunt. Sam slid his hands under his lover’s jeans, smoothing circles on the velvety skin that had been denied to him since what seemed like forever.

Leaving Dean and his father for Stanford had been difficult. His Goddess’ appearance had saved him and his family from being torn apart by Azazel, but it was important not to mess up yellow-eyes' plans too early. So he packed his bags and went to college, and in doing so, had been forced away from his older brother, his firstborn through the Alpha bond, and his soulmate.

They met sometimes, in dark alleys and raunchy clubs, but for a pair that had never been separated since birth, it was a challenging three years.

Now they were back together, and pretending to be mere brothers even for two days was almost impossible.

Nails travelled along the nape of his neck, tickling the short hairs that laid there, distracting Sam from his thoughts. He smiled down at the crown of blond that nuzzled his chest and embraced Dean tightly with closed eyes, his hands settling against his partner’s lower back.

So focused on the warmth they shared, Sam didn’t feel Dean removing the pistol from his belt until he heard three consecutive shots. He didn’t even have to open his eyes to know what happened, not even when Dean whispered a question into his shirt.

“Did you see anyone come into the cave with us?”

“I didn’t notice a thing,” he replied, pulling them apart and taking hold of his flare gun, “but there are so many corpses in here. We should give them proper cremations.”

They swung each other’s hand, conversing about random topics as they departed from the mine and Black Water Ridge, leaving the self-made crematorium burning behind them.

A week later, they would read an online article detailing the disappearances of the Collins family.

The two brothers and sister would never be found.

 


	3. S01E03 Dead In The Water

 

Dean was indifferent to humans… but he had to admit that kids were adorable, no matter what species of animal or supernatural creature they were.

The little human Lucas was no exception, though the long brown hair reminded him of his little brother, which was probably why he had to resist hugging the air out of his cute, chubby cheeks.

He took one of the crayons and drew a picture of his family in stick figure form, yellow hair on his mother, a black leather jacket on his father, a brown hat on Bobby’s head, and he and his Sammy with arms around each other, wide ‘U’s for their mouths.

He tried reassuring Lucas that what he saw was real and that he could tell Dean about it, but to no avail.

He gave up for now, showing the boy what he managed to create with the pint sized utensils.

“This is my family, Lucas. Here’s my mama and papa, my Uncle Bobby, and then me and my younger brother who’s over there with your mother right now. I’m a sucky artist, but I tried. That’s what always counts.”

Lucas accepted the picture, but without a word.

Dean just smiled, ruffling the messy strands before heading back to Sam’s side, their arms brushing.

They talked with the mother for a while until Lucas gave him a picture as well, and this time, didn’t hold back, showing his gratitude through a restricting one-armed hug. “Thanks, my man!”

 

* * *

 

“Maybe Bill's not the only one who knows something,” Dean muttered, looking down at the picture in his hands.

They didn’t know what they were facing this time around since their Goddess didn’t tell them much beyond the ghost and wendigo, and he didn’t like not knowing. His brother, on the other hand, enjoyed the mystery of finding out what their target was.

But for once, he was ahead of the game. And he loved that feeling.

Inside Lucas’ bedroom, he dropped to his knees and asked, “Do you remember me, Lucas?”

The child was silent as always, but this time, he handed Dean a picture without prompt. He stopped himself from gaping as he absorbed what was portrayed.

It was he and Sammy, kissing with a pink, perfectly shaped heart above them, their mother dressed like a Halloween angel above them, smiling down at her sons. Their father and Uncle Bobby were off to the side, arm-in-arm, grinning with a congratulatory thumbs up.

Dean laughed, patting him on the head, “You’re perceptive, Lucas, you know that?”

He heard Sam come up from behind, the paper in his hand being taken by larger hands. He peered up. “Smart, isn’t he?”

Sam agreed with a slight nod as he rolled up the picture and slid it into his pocket, rejoining the mother’s side.

“So, Lucas, the reason I’m here is to get your help one more time…”

 

* * *

 

When the case was done and over with, Dean hugged Lucas again, his brother holding the sandwiches the boy and his mother made for them.

Being immortal beings, it was not a necessity to eat, food dissolving to nothing by the extreme acidity within their bodies. That didn’t mean they couldn’t eat something and relish it, something Dean always told himself whenever eating some delicious pie.

He separated from the kid. “Come on. Let’s get this in the car,” he encouraged, forcing Sam to do the comforting neither of them enjoyed.

Packed and ready to go, Dean gave Lucas a high-five and shook the mother’s hand.

“Wait,” Lucas unexpectedly called out.

The three adults looked down.

“Mr. Sam,” he said in a surprising, demanding tone. “Take care of Dean, okay.”

Andrea glanced between them, bewildered.

Sam, not comfortable around children like his older brother, was unsure of how to react, and Dean’s snickers weren’t helping. Eventually he bent down and nodded, face as serious as could be as he promised, “I will.”

They shook hands with Dean sighing above them.

Kids, always adorable.

 


	4. S01E04 Phantom Traveler

 

Honestly, if he knew Dean was just going to scream the whole time they were exorcising the demon, he would have gone by himself.

His brother – his immortal, impossible to kill brother – afraid of airplanes.

Goddess-dammit.

Land had never been so awe-inspiring until it meant a lack of high-pitched screaming by Dean Winchester.

In the airport, Sam followed the smaller male at a sedate pace, rolling his eyes as Dean practically fled towards the exit.

Scaredy-cat.

The next day they were shaking Jerry’s hand, the man chattering about how many people they saved and their father who listed Dean’s phone number in his voice message.

When he was gone, they looked at each other.

“Wanna see if he picks up?” Dean wondered, tilting his head.

He shrugged.

His brother took it as confirmation and dialed, the speaker on.

After six rounds of ringing, there was an answer. “This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-01-”

“Dad. You might fool acquaintances, but we’re your sons,” Sam grinded out, irritated.

“Okay, okay. Sheesh, Sam, when was the last time you took your brother to bed?” came their father’s reply, the gruff, indifferent tone having been replaced by a teasing, light-heartedness you could only get from a truly happy man.

Dean chirped in, cheeky, “Careful, dad. It’s been awhile.”

“Obviously,” their father’s ‘duh’ echoing between them. “So, why’ya callin’?” he continued.

“No reason,” Dean admitted. “But I will tell you that the next time there is an airplane involved in a case, fuck following the plan. I’m not doing it, not e- _ver_!” he emphasized while crossing his arms.

John was silent on his end, until ten seconds later, he busted out laughing.

Dean scowled, even as their father’s mirth died down.

“Sammy, turn off the speaker and let me talk to Dean alone.”

The younger sibling did just that, handing the phone over to his puff-cheeked brother.

There was another silence, and then another belly laugh.

Dean screeched, “Dad!”

Sam merely shook his head, getting in the passenger seat of the Impala, letting Dean’s one-sided banter wash over him as he relaxed, his long legs out the door.

 


	5. S01E05 Bloody Mary

 

*SHATTER*

“That’s five, Sammy!”

*SHATTER*

“Thirteen! Swing faster, Dean!”

*SHATTER*

“No fair! You didn’t have cops to take care of!”

*SHATTER*

“Should’ve killed them *SHATTER* and not knocked them out!”

*SHATTER*

“Can’t have everyone we meet dead!”

*SHATTER*

“So what was your reasoning *SHATTER* for the humans in the wendigo case?!”

*SHATTER*

“They were annoying!”

*SHATTER*

“That’s an excuse, not a reason!”

*SHATTER*

“When *SHATTER* have I *SHATTER* ever *SHATTER* needed *SHATTER* a reason *SHATTER* to kill someone!?”

*SHATTER**SMASH**SMASH**SHATTER**SMASH**SHATTER**SHATTER**SMASH**SHATTER**SHATTER*

There was a momentary silence before Sam dropped his crowbar, staring at Dean with a raised, incredulous eyebrow then glancing down at Bloody Mary’s mirror, the glass shattered into microscopic shards and the frame missing its entire top-half which was scattered all around in pieces.

“Holy shit, Dean.”

The eldest brother tossed his crowbar away with a sheepish grin. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

They were about to make their way to the exit, but a grudge-like sound croaked from behind them, making them spin around.

“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me,” Dean moaned, wishing the case would just end. He was already pissed about the words Mary screamed at them, about Sam not saving Jessica or accusing him of not saving people, because if there was anything he hated more, it was being reminded of who he and Sam would have become without their Goddess’s interference.

Fed up, Dean reached for the only mirror that survived their overzealous destruction and forced the bitch to see her own reflection, causing her to melt into a pool of blood with her own voice screaming at her.

His brother pointed at the mirror and threw his arm to the side, the reflecting surface floating in the air and then shattering against the wall into dust particles.

Sam sighed, resisting the urge to collapse on the glass-littered ground.

Dean, on the other hand, said, “That’s gotta be more than a thousand years of bad luck,” before falling back into Sam’s arms.

His brother was kind enough to carry him out of the room of mirrors, only to drop him atop of the police officers and walk to the Impala, right into the driver’s seat.

“Ass,” Dean muttered under his breath.

 


	6. S01E06 Skin

 

“Sammy-Sam, where are you?” Dean shouted in front of Sam, imitating the cry from Scooby-Doo.

“Dean, that’s not funny.”

“Scooby and Shaggy are always funny.”

Sam glared as he breathed in deep, tightening his arm muscles and jerking outward, causing a ringing snap to echo through the sewer, the ropes falling away in pieces. He took a knife from his belt and cut away the binding on his neck and stood, cuffing Dean across the head.

“Ow…”

“The damn shapeshifter took your form.”

“Without asking? Geez, no manners these days.”

He raised a hand again, the smaller male flinching back and protecting his head.

“Okay, serious now. Promise,” Dean rapidly vowed.

Sam shook his head and began leading them out of the sewer, his purplish-blue eyes luminous, easing their way through the dinky, putrid tunnels. He absentmindedly rubbed the back of his head where the shapeshifter bashed him, hard enough for a knockout had he been human, instead just leaving a small bump that would heal within the hour.

When they found that shapeshifting bastard, he would have first dibs this time. He did not appreciate being dragged by the feet, whether the creature knew he was unconscious or not.

“Did it say anything to you?” Dean questioned him, curious.

“It read your memories, said you were jealous that I went to Stanford and abandoned you,” he answered. “It was just like Bloody Mary, unable to access our real memories.”

Dean remained silent for a few minutes before admitting, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to, you know, all these creatures knowing the innermost thoughts and memories of what would have been our human selves. I really hate hearing about it.”

“Our Goddess protects us from their abilities. Be grateful that we’re in control.”

“I know,” Dean assured him, lightly punching Sam’s bicep. “Like She told us six years ago. This is our world now.”

 


	7. S01E07 – S01E08 Reconnecting

 

There was blood everywhere, staining a lovely cotton loveseat and splattered across pale green wallpaper, and even a little vase of pink roses that were slowly bleeding to crimson, red rivers flowing down thorned stems, and like lava, the bodily fluid dispersed across the once luxurious rug, the woven material now wet and spongy, to the glossy wooden floors and into the cracks along each floorboard, painting a macabre picture of tragedy, the focus being a beautifully pale, middle-aged couple at the base of the sofa, brown and blonde strands soaked in sticky globs, their hands connected in a comforting embrace, a look into their last moments when life still flowed within their battered, broken bodies, before the fates’ plan for a peaceful death was brutally ripped from their ever-writing grasps.

An eerie creak was heard by no one but the house, the sound growing louder along with idle footsteps until a half-naked form was seen walking down the stairs, a sodden white and pink shirt in one hand and hydrogen peroxide in the other. They neared the corpses and dropped the items to the floor, the bottle producing a thud from its weight against the wood. Bare feet made their way through mushy fabric until the toes brushed along the couple’s hands. The form turned, heels in place of toes, where they lifted themselves up onto the loveseat, stretching out in spite of the gore.

There was a knock on the front door, and without a waiting period, the man behind it turned the handle and entered, shutting the door whilst humming a tune.

Sam looked around the living room and sneered at the mess his lover created.

Five months had been too long, that much was clear. The last time he had seen this level of chaos was the last week of their transition, the night before She showed Herself to them.

Confusion, pain, anger, grief, bloodlust, hatred, self-loathing, insanity.

They had not been reborn without humanity, no, they had lost it over time, a span of two short months, a time when their human and creature selves fought for dominance, continually, day after day, no sleep or peace of mind allowed, for when they did, those basic instincts – to destroy, to fuck, to kill – would have utterly destroyed them.

Sudden, deranged laughter invaded the silence of the little house that was surrounded by nothing but hay fields and forests.

His back hit the blood-stained wall as Dean jumped on him, legs around his waist and thrusting against him, joining their mouths with fervor, nothing but tongue and teeth clashing, painful but gratifying for them both.

Sam switched their positions, slamming his lover’s back into the same wall, forming a human-sized dent into the plaster as he attacked the neck that had been bared to him, licking, sucking and biting as the carnal creature within him seized governance over his self-control, shredding what little clothes the other still wore as he ripped his own pants open.

 

> “Sam, please, stop! It- I can’t- no! Please, stop!” Dean begged as he was raped by his younger brother, or whatever had possessed him, that creature or demon that wore Sammy’s skin, who stripped him and bruised him and kept breaking him, over and over until he was a sobbing and bleeding mess, waiting for the throes of death to save him from this nightmare, again and again in an excruciating cycle.
> 
> _When would any of this end?_ he despaired, his glassy green eyes crying tears that trickled into his screaming mouth, pleading for the darkness he was once so frightened of.

 

Dean clawed through the shirt that separated him from his brother’s broad back, from the powerful muscles his fingers loved to trace in the dead of night when they slept in those king-sized beds they rarely asked for.

 

> He deserved his respect and submission. He created him, made him what he was. Without his tainted blood, Dean would be nothing but a pathetic human, wasting away in alcohol and self-hatred and the idiotic wish to save anyone he could and perhaps the world, a foolish dream only mortals would ever dream of, wishing and desiring a purpose, a reason for being here in this world, a slave to an existence that was so fleeting.
> 
> He gave Dean _Life_ , true life, immortality, the chance of forever, of eternity, and yet he disrespects him, his maker, his Alpha, his everything. _How dare he?!_
> 
> Punishment after punishment, when would he learn, when would he submit, when would he _surrender_?
> 
> _*Crack*_
> 
> _Why can’t I stop!_
> 
> _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…_
> 
> _I’m sorry, big brother! I’m so sorry! Dean! Please forgive me!_

 

The air conditioning turned on, the light breeze brushing Sam’s exposed torso as fingernails raked down his back, drawing blood as they tore through his skin with unconscious force, crimson beads tickling down his flesh as he yanked Dean’s head to the side, a few blond hairs tearing from the delicate scalp, his teeth grazing along his lover’s pulse point, continuing the reddening trail of possessive marks.

 

> There was a deafening shatter as Dean’s head went through the glass table, his chest unmoving against the chestnut wood that had connected the glass planes. Blood flowed from his head where a shard had stabbed, and another, wider and lengthier shard went through his entire shoulder, his fingers mangled and wrists broken. His naked hips were blemished by discolored handprints, and blood and semen flowed from his torn opening, dribbling down his death-pale thighs.
> 
> Sam stood over his body, an enraged scowl that disfigured his normally kind features dwindling until there was nothing left but shame and grief. He dropped to his knees and screamed, pleading for whoever might hear to kill him, to free him from the creature that was winning.
> 
> No one answered.
> 
> There truly was no god, was there?

 

Dean keened as fingers stretched his healed over entrance, cursing his regenerative abilities as Sam’s fingers traced circles along his inner walls, prodding along his prostate but never pressing, handling his bottom like one would a virgin, and that treatment pissed him off. He wanted nothing but violence, his lover’s unrepentance for sullying whatever innocence remained from his every rebirth. He craved for the creature that would mutilate his newly sewn flesh.

“Fuck me!” he finally screeched, begging and pleading and then, when he felt nothing but pure agony, he thought, _there he is_ …

 

> He was slapped.
> 
> “I’m not a toy you can fuck with, Sam…!”
> 
> Dean slammed the door, fleeing with only an oversized torn shirt on his back.
> 
> “What’s happening to me?”
> 
> A wispy, feminine voice echoed in his head.
> 
> **_You are coming into your own, my little Alpha._ **
> 
> “Goddammit, who are you!? Show yourself, you fucking bitch!”
> 
> Sam gripped his head, cursing, crying, shouting till his throat went dry.
> 
> “Get out of my head!”

 

Sam growled, his brown eyes changing and molding into their inhuman form as he thrust himself into a demanding Dean, trembling at the sensation of heat and warm blood that hugged him below. In and out, more forceful one after the other, staving his release with the urge to cause pain and pleasure all at once.

He threw Dean to the floor onto his stomach and climbed over him, sinking back into the breached hole that easily welcomed him, reacting to every request his lover begged of him.

“Fuck me, hurt me, make me bleed, take my breath away, bruise me, break me, kill me- please, Sammy!”

 

> “You killed him.”
> 
> A despicable man, molesting a defenseless woman. He had to kill him, didn’t he? No, he didn’t, but he wanted to, but that made him no better than… than… he wasn’t innocent either. He was a monster, a demon of some sort, of course he was, the person he used to be would be ashamed, would never enjoy killing- _murdering_ , _slaughtering_ another human being in cold blood, but he, he wasn’t, he wasn’t even human now.
> 
> No human could die and come back to life.
> 
> He was… a monster.
> 
> “Dean, what did you do?”
> 
> _Inexorable bloodlust_.
> 
> ( _I killed him_.
> 
> _And I liked it_.)

 

Dean’s forehead smashed against the floor as he was thrown away like trash, and when he was filled to the brim again, his hands were pinned above his head, and with one squeeze, the thin, fragile bones in his fingers were crushed. A low wail escaped, his canines drawing blood from his bottom lip as he tried holding in the sound of acute pain. Such an attempt soon became useless.

An anguished, yet blissful scream resonated throughout the house as Sam hit his prostate with bruising strength, the fingertips of his free hand having just pierced Dean’s left side, covering the top knuckles in dark, sticky blood. The extreme sensation brought him to completion, a long, drawn out orgasm that left him weeping and twitching as his body went into shock.

 

> Dean cradled his head with his dirtied hands, face buried in his little brother’s chest and sobbing for what he had done, flashes of gore and human organs blending together and the echo of tortured screaming for mercy and forgiveness, and the scent of urine and copper, iron, rust, and metal and so much shame, regret, satisfaction, sorrow, happiness, gratification, excitement… and suddenly he was drowning, unable to breathe or comprehend his surroundings, the warmth of his brother’s arms turning cold, frozen, unfeeling, and then… there was heat, passion, he was sweating, shivering, but not from any chill, but from the very fact that he was…
> 
> That he was alive. Truly… alive…

 

Sam continued ramming inside his unresponsive lover, and feeling his whole body tighten in preparation, he began asphyxiating Dean, his five bloodied fingers obscuring the distinct line of teeth marks he had left behind in his animalistic haze.

As the pulse within his grasp stilled, Sam reached his own breaking point and crumpled beside Dean, swinging an arm around his corpse and closing his exhausted eyes.

 

> He could not comfort Dean, not after the… after all that he had done.
> 
> So he went back to his newest high school, played pretend, pretending he was still a nerd, the bookworm that everyone ridiculed, that he was still human, that he never hurt- _raped_ , his own brother, the only person that truly _loved_ him… who he loved just as much and…
> 
> He skipped.
> 
> He returned to the motel, cradled his brother and pleaded for his forgiveness, soothed that maroon-mattered head of blond hair, ignored the tears that dampened his shirt, and chanted once and twice and three times-
> 
> ( _I love you._
> 
> _I’m in love with you._
> 
> _Don’t leave._
> 
> _Stay with me._
> 
> _Forever._
> 
> _For eternity_.)
> 
> And suddenly his world cleared, for he knew – _knew_ – that Dean wanted to stay, that his love was reciprocated, and all his misery and uncertainty and self-loathing, his regret, it was gone because…
> 
> He knew who- _what_ he was.
> 
> He was immortal, eternal, he was…
> 
> Alive. Truly… alive…

 

When he awakened from deep slumber, the first thing he saw was forest green eyes, staring back at him.

Sam reached out a hand that was immediately taken.

“I love you.”

Dean smiled, radiant and _alive_.

“I love you too.”

They were never ones for speaking sweet nothings, but they knew that sometimes, these things needed to be said.

 

> ( _Who are you?_
> 
> What _are you?_ )
> 
> **_It is a pleasure to finally meet with you._ **
> 
> Perfection.
> 
> Their Creator.
> 
> Their Savior.
> 
> **_My immortal children_** …
> 
> **_…this is our world now._ **

 

 


	8. S01E08 Bugs

 

“Let me just say… we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or... sexual orientation.”

Sam looked down at Dean, smirking while holding in a chuckle.

An equally amused smirk was returned before Dean replied, “We’re brothers.”

They relished in the human’s embarrassment, but Sam decided to save him, following up with, “Our father is getting on in years, and we're just lookin' for a place for him.”

Of course, when it happened again, this time with a redheaded woman, his brother went for a different, more comical route, at least for him anyways.

Dean gasped, setting his hands on his cheeks and giggled, a quirky feminine laugh that had Sam doing a double-take, for it was something he had never heard from the other immortal, ever.

“Oh, that’s absolutely wonderful! Isn’t it, Sammy-love?”

Never giving him a chance to respond, Dean continued, bubbly and creepily vivacious, “Perfect! So you can discuss house things together, and I’ll go talk to Larry.” He turned to Sam, grinning and sparkly-eyed, “Okay, honey?!”

Warm lips pecked his cheek, Dean then prancing away towards the aforementioned man, but only Sam could differentiate Dean’s run from his walk, no matter how exaggerated the movement.

Dean had purposely left him to deal with the head of sales, that- He looked back towards Lynda and offered an awkward smile, teeth grinding.

“Too much caffeine this morning, you know?”

 

* * *

 

Later that night, when Dean was driving to their temporary residence, he heard his Sammy cry out a familiar distressed moan. A swift turn of the steering wheel had the Impala parking beside the sidewalk.

He leaned over the armrest and messaged his brother’s temples with his thumbs, using his other fingers to put pressure on the back of his head. He then pressed their foreheads together and hummed a soothing melody until the premonition was finished.

Sam grasped his suspended wrists and gently squeezed. “Thank you.”

He nodded, returning to his seat. “What’d you see?”

“That Bloome woman,” he answered. “She’ll be attacked by spiders in her shower and die.”

He shrugged, unconcerned, and was about to shift gears, but that hadn’t been all.

“The developer and his family will also die by a swarm of bugs. It’s a curse we’re dealing with, it seems.”

“So we won’t get to kill anything?” he asked, despondent.

A laborious nod. “No killing involved.”

“Then we’re leaving.”

There was no entertainment to be found preventing a measly curse.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him but was unbothered, since he did not try to dissuade his decision, laying back for a well-needed nap.

They skipped Oklahoma, but were later surprised when there was another vision, for rarely did Sam have premonitions so close to each other, and this time, they were _very_ interested in this one.

It was back to their dear old Kansas home.

 


	9. S01E09 Home

 

His ears twitched at the giggling of little children, and peeking at his brother’s widening grin, Sam groaned under his breath. He knew the woman would have children, but he had hoped they’d have been in some kind of preschool program or something this morning, just so he could avoid Dean’s little – okay, _big_ obsession – with smelly, snot-nosed, ear-piercing brats that couldn’t take care of them-damn-selves.

Fucking Saturdays.

He prayed to Goddess that they’d never run into an orphaned child, else he would have Dean begging him to change the little horror into one of them, no matter the fact that they’d still grow up until a certain point.

Sari and Ritchie were their names, and immediately they had his brother’s attention. He shook his head, irked.

Dean ignored the taller man’s usual annoyance toward kids, leaning over the playpen and shaking the boy’s hand. “My name’s Dean, and I like juice too. What’s your favorite, little man?”

The cherub thrust his sippy cup forward in an excited, look-what-I-got manner. “Ap-el!”

“Apple?” he gasped with a clap of the hands, “That’s my favorite too.”

His hyped-up response received a waving cheer before Ritchie was distracted by one of his toys, drinking with one hand and playing with the other.

Dean then joined Sari at the table, hearing Sam talking to Jenny about the house. “So, Sari, how old are you?”

She dropped her pencil, holding up all her fingers and smiling, bashful. “Ten.”

“That means you’re in the fifth grade, right?”

“Ah-huh. Mom says I’m a big girl,” she declared, proud of her mother’s assertion, and taking this as a sign of her warming up to him, Dean used a more direct line of questioning, fishing for the information they really needed.

“You know, when I lived here, I was scared of the dark. My daddy would always turn on a little nightlight for me, saying it would protect me from the shadow monsters. Silly, huh?” She looked interested, nodding her head sideways at the rhetorical question, and quickly he asked, “Are _you_ scared of the dark, Sari?”

The child’s eyes darted to her mother as she said, “No, but I think…”

“Yes?” he prompted.

“I think there’s a thing… in my closet. It was on fire,” she whispered, her eyes wide from lingering fear.

Dean suppressed his shock by whispering back, “That sounds scary.”

The mother finished conversing with Sam about the house and addressed both him and Sam.

“Would you two like the photos I found in the basement? There’s a whole trunk full.”

Downstairs, the brothers were sitting on their knees with Jenny watching at the door.

“You were so adorable back then,” Dean cooed, shoving a picture of a crying three-month old Sammy in their mother’s arms. She wore a lavender blouse, her wavy blonde locks fluttering all around her as she attempted to get her youngest smiling, evident in the way her cheeks were puffed like two tiny balloons.

Sam rolled his eyes, yet was unable to stop the corners of his lips from quirking up, because in that one photo, he realized who had given Dean all his beautiful features. The similar shades of blonde hair and green eyes, the nearly invisible freckles scattered across the bridge of their noses, their rounded cheeks – and after seeing a picture of their teenaged mother – the identical, mischievous grin.

He wasn’t looking through the trunk anymore, which Dean soon noticed.

Glancing one final time at his four-year-old self kissing Sammy’s chubby cheek, he closed the lid of beloved memories and faced Sam’s admiring countenance.

Behind them, the mother of two shut her basement door with an audible click.

They were brothers, no doubt, and were also the older versions of the two boys she saw in the photos, but the looks they shared reminded Jenny of herself and the soulmate she lost a month ago in that horrid accident.

She didn’t understand how two brothers could be so in love, but she understood what it was like, loving someone she knew to be the other half of her soul.

Jenny walked away with a grieving smile, giving her visitors a personal moment.

 

* * *

 

As Sam slid the trunk into the Impala with ease, Dean continued watching the window of Sari’s room, a faraway look in his eyes. Aloud, he reminisced, “You know, I carried you out of the house that night, told you it was okay. I promised that I’d always look after you, no matter what.”

“And you did,” his brother murmured, hugging him by the shoulders.

“But I don’t, not anymore.” Dean peered up with an accepting smile. “You don’t need me in that way now.”

Sam knocked the side of his head and leaned down with narrow eyes, forcing him to back up an inch. “You’re right, because I am no longer a child. I don’t need you to babysit me anymore.” He turned away, facing the cloudless sky as he continued, “But I expect you to look after me still, just as I look after you. It’s not a one-sided job anymore, Dean.”

He followed his Sammy’s gaze in time to see a raven krawing with quick flaps of its wings, landing on a tree branch and cleaning the inner feathers. He briefly recalled the day before his and his brother’s transformation, when Sam told him of a crow with intelligent eyes that stared at him before flying away, and then his own experience with an unusual squirrel, two animals they later realized was their Goddess observing them.

The rodent had jumped on the roof of the Impala and watched him with knowing, beady eyes, which it then preceded to run toward his face, jumping atop his head and fleeing into a mass of trees. A strange incident, but not one he had lingered on, unaware that the squirrel would become his savior the very next day.

Black wings took flight again, and grinning, Dean replied, “I understand that. It takes two to tango, right?”

“That idiom doesn’t really-” his Sammy cut himself off, sighing. “Yeah, sure.”

“Alright, enough with the chick-flick moment,” he announced, pointing upwards. “It’s time for some research!”

“You mean it’s time _I_ do some research.”

“Well if you insist.”

Dean was in the car before Sam had any chance for a nasty comeback.

 

* * *

 

“Dad’s here,” was Sam’s abrupt comment.

Dean cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, shifting on his side of the couch so his brother was in full view. Sam was looking bored, arms folded and his head resting back, as if he hadn’t said a word.

“Why here? I thought he’d be off in another state at a future coordinate.”

“She must have given him new orders at another time. Whatever the reason is, we’ll pretend he’s not here. The information led us to Missouri Moseley and that is the person we will see.”

“You’re right,” he concurred. “Besides, since She didn’t warn us about his little visit, then this is what dad would have been doing in the first place- hiding from us.”

A hint of anger leaked through his otherwise casual observation, but their hostess appeared before Sam could reply, leading a man out the door while saying, “All right, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.” The younger Winchester scoffed in the privacy in his mind. The poor old sod was probably being cheated on, knowing suspicions like that were pretty on spot for the most part.

He was proven right when she sighed. “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener,” she disclosed with a sad shake of her head.

 _Figures_ , he thought, a smug smirk playing at his lips.

Dean snorted, sniggering with a fist over his mouth.

The Moseley woman was silent after that, staring at him and his older brother with uncertainty and… _fear_? She was a psychic, definitely, but their Goddess should have blinded her abilities unless- unless she posed no threat to them.

Dean came to the same conclusion as he leaped from his seat and shook her hands, a genuine smile brightening his youthful face. “You’re the one who helped our father after our mom’s death. Thanks for that.” She had a right to be afraid of them, himself more than Sam, but even he could acknowledge the kindness Missouri offered an inconsolable John. She had nothing to fear from them.

Through his touch, she regained her previous persona, passing the brothers with an offhand, “Refreshments?” They opened their mouths to respond, but of course she was a step ahead. “Doesn’t do anythin’ for ya, so why bother. Unless I have pie, which I do not today, sadly.”

Dean grinned at his Sammy, mouthing, “I like her,” as she led them to the next room where they took their seats on another couch, Missouri across from them. She scrutinized them, taking in their faces with a melancholy look in her eyes.

“You boys grew up handsome,” she complimented. “But you haven’t aged in five years,” was directed at Dean, and then she looked at Sam, “and you recently stopped aging.”

Dean nodded, enthusiastic. “Twenty-two’s the magic number for us immortals! What else do you know?”

Sam elbowed him. “We’re not here to play twenty questions, Dean.”

“Aww,” he whined, “but she’s the only stranger who knows anything about us. Don’t cha find that refreshing, Sammy? I sure do.”

“We’re here on business.”

“He’s right,” Missouri agreed, much to Dean’s disappointment. “You’re Goddess would be most displeased with me if I were to keep you here too long. You’ve gotta schedule to keep, and ya both know what happens to those that piss Her off.”

Dean blanched at that, rubbing a phantom pain in the middle of his stomach. He had paid for his defiant behavior in the worst way back then.

 

> Dean gawked at Sam before slowly lowering his head, all thoughts wiped from the forefront of his mind as he began to tremble at the sight of a pale arm that had pierced through his stomach, numbness freeing him from pain. He coughed once, blood dribbling down from his bottom lip, and he watched his little brother stare at his own blood-spattered clothes that were ruined in the crossfire, wiping his hands through the mess only to smear it like a toddler fingerpainting for the first time.
> 
> The arm pulled out, and everything went black.
> 
> _Moaning and sobbing, a language he’d never heard before, never by anyone but the creatures of that other world, the loneliness, grief, unsatisfied hunger, always always hungry and so so so alone-_
> 
> White, a ceiling, something familiar… Sammy.
> 
> ( _That was…_ )

 

Sam patted his brother on the shoulder, a small comfort that wouldn’t take away the memories.

She had personally killed Dean that day, forcing him into a sort of stasis, preventing his body from healing, and sent him into the afterlife of their Goddess’ world, an unpleasant place that would have anyone wishing for Hell.

Dean didn’t tell him about his experience, except for one, unsettling ramble with teary, disturbed eyes.

 

> ( _In Hell, torture gets boring, predictable, temporary, but that- that- it was so… lonely and- and never-ending survival, being devoured and spit back out only to begin again… no one to befriend- to love- no one but you wishing but not really wishing because you don’t know anything but… nothing… it-it was… nothingness_.)

 

Across from them, Missouri gripped her arms and ran from the room, an apology barely managing to leave her quivering lips before she was gone from her home to the liberating outdoors.

 _Nothingness, indeed_ , she thought.

 

* * *

 

“Sammy, I’ll grab the kids! You get Jenny!”

“Dean, wai-” his brother was already in the house by then, and with an exasperated sigh, he followed. He figured Missouri’s solution would fail against the poltergeist, and had tried doing a stake out alone, but Dean never could be deterred when children were involved.

Jenny’s bedroom door was unable to be opened despite lacking a lock, and hearing her screaming at a higher decibel, kicked down the door and grabbed the fretting mother into his arms, carrying her out of the house as she kicked her legs and pushed at his chest.

“But my kids!”

“Dean’s looking after your kids. Now stop struggling.”

Back in the house, Dean had both kids on each side of his hips as he sprinted down the stars, attempting to pacify the bawling Ritchie while Sari buried her face in his neck, clinging to him in understandable terror.

“I’ll protect you, little man. Don’t worry, all’s gonna be a-okay.”

But just as he reached the open door, an invisible force began to tug him back, and holding in an annoyed groan, he forced Sari away and handed her the resisting Ritchie who was reaching back out to him.

“Sari, take him outside and please, don’t look back!”

She did as ordered, crying but never turning back even as she heard a shout and a crash.

Dean smiled as she ran just before he was lifted into the air and slammed against the wall, losing all his breath as his shoulder blades bruised under the pressure. With just enough time to wish Jenny had more carpet in her house, he tumbled hard onto the floor, banging his bottom jaw which caused his teeth to slam together, and was dragged into another room, colliding with a table and once again being thrown against a wall but face-first, blood dripping from his broken nose as he grumbled under his breath, letting out several expletives as he was raised in the air.

He closed his eyes, awaiting more pain until he felt his body being pulled in two different directions. He smiled, relieved as he found his brother glaring at the other side of the room, too livid to bother using his hands as he forced the poltergeist to release him from its invisible clutches.

Dean floated into Sam’s arms and playfully cried out, encircling his arms around his brother’s neck. “My hero~!”

There was no immediate banter.

Confused, he jerked back to see Sam gaping in wonder. He turned his head and took in the flaming figure that walked towards them, white and orange flames extinguishing completely, revealing a familiar face from his childhood memories, and for his Sammy, that trunk full of photographs.

“Mother,” Sam whispered.

“Mom, it’s you,” Dean added, wincing at the ache around his nose.

She stepped closer to them and smiled. “My beautiful boys, it’s a joy seeing you.”

“How is this possible?”

Sam’s question was ignored, Mary’s gentle gaze travelling past them somewhere into the distance.

Her intonation was poignant, but seemingly content as she requested, “Please tell you father something for me?”

“Anything,” Dean murmured.

“Tell him to stop being such a whiny bitch and make a move already, unless he wants to spend eternity alone,” she said in an exasperated tone.

Sam snorted in amusement, nodding. Their mother had been quite the badass, he mused with a prickly feeling in his glistening eyes.

In his arms, Dean laid his head against Sam’s chest, waving at their mother, too choked up to say all that he wanted, but really, she probably knew anyway. She always did.

She walked away and scowled at the ceiling. “Get out of my house. You don’t belong here.”

Mary was veiled by flames that reached through the ceiling and vanished.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you for saving me and my children.”

Dean rubbed the back of his head, waving his fingers downward as a dismissal. “No probs, really.”

Sam shook Jenny’s hand and offered a smile, a bland expression noticeable only to Dean and Missouri. “It’s what we do.”

The mother carried her son on a hip, Sari clutching her left pant leg and staring at Dean with a wide, besotted grin.

“You’ll be staying here with us, right, Dean?”

“Oh, Sari…” She was too adorable, and he hated hurting her feelings. “I’m very sorry, but I belong on the road with Sammy. We have to leave soon.”

Big, saddened eyes drifted towards the ground, Sari kicking the bottom of her shoe against the concrete of her family’s driveway, showcasing her disappointment.

“But… I really want you to stay.”

He looked between Sam and Missouri, conflicted, wanting to console her but needing to avoid any more attachment.

Surprisingly, it was Jenny who helped him out, dropping to her knees with her free arm aiding the decent, and hugged Sari to her side, brushing her hair away from her pouting face. “Sari, honey, he’s right. Sam and Dean are just like daddy and me, and it would hurt them very much to be separated.”

Dean touched his bruised jaw, reassuring himself that his mouth hadn’t dropped. He met eyes with his brother, sharing mutual shock at Jenny’s observation skills and her lack of judgment. She was a strange human.

“They… love each other?” Sari asked, wonderment in her question.

“They do.”

“I understand.” She peered up at Sam. “If you love Dean, then you’ll keep protecting him, won’t you?”

“Hey, I protect myself just fine!”

His objection was ignored as his lover nodded, awkward as always when dealing with children.

“Of course.”

While following Missouri’s car, Sam gazed out the passenger window and sighed. “What’s with midgets demanding that I take care of you?” he muttered.

Dean never replied, irritated at the fact that children enjoyed considering him as some feeble maiden. He vowed that the next kid they encountered would see him as the badass he truly was.

He didn’t bother telling Sam about his conviction since he’d most likely be laughed at.

 


	10. S01E09 – S01E10 Daddy Dearest

When he reached the top of the stairs, the first thing he noticed was Missouri nursing a cup of tea, her eyes swerving back and forth between his arguing sons, something about Sam not wanting to hear about Dean’s whining over bruises and busted lips over a long period of time so “would you please kill yourself already?”

Yeah, that was always a statement that had him stepping backwards because, hey, no one should say such a thing to their sibling, but of course, for Sam, it was a regular saying. Since acquiring the ability to regenerate, Dean’s pain threshold had dropped tremendously, and even a little paper cut had him moaning and groaning like an adolescent. And John had thought the opposite would be true for someone who was grievously injured and killed on a near daily basis… nope, not _his_ son.

Sigh, he was beginning to worry about his own future as an immortal. Hopefully if he attained a special ability, it would be nothing like his eldest son’s. He favored a high pain tolerance, thank you very much.

John bent down and removed the knife he kept attached to his right calf, holding the grip with loose fingers as he made his way towards Dean, readying the blade, his grasp tightening in preparation. Missouri was staring at him, a knowing eyebrow raised, while his youngest son continued speaking to his brother, as if he had yet to notice his father right in front of him, but looking deep into Sam’s chocolate eyes, he caught a glimpse of disbelief and anticipation.

Expected really. It wasn’t like John made a habit of offing his own children, but honestly, if he didn’t do it, Sam definitely would, and in a more gruesome manner… because his youngest son was an asshole.

Sneaking up behind Dean – more like strolling up since his eldest was oblivious to anybody that wasn’t Sam – he swiped the blade across Dean’s throat, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder while the immortal gurgled and choked, collapsing to the floor in a dead heap, blood expanding from his neck to five floorboards.

Now that he was seeing the mess he created, John almost felt sorry for ruining Missouri’s clean house.

Almost, was the keyword here.

Silence permeated the room, and eventually, he dropped to one knee, cleaned his knife with Dean’s shirt, and slipped it back into place on his leg, standing with a little wave of his hand.

“Yo.”

Missouri merely glared at him, pointing at the puddle of blood and then to a mop and bucket of soapy water, placed conveniently in the right corner, just waiting for a human to begin utilizing its cleaning capabilities.

Honest to Goddess, he despised psychics. If she wasn’t a dear friend, he would murder her right there on the spot.

…Wow, still a moralistic human and he was already thinking of going on a killing spree.

His sons were a bad influence.

Maybe if they spent enough time with Rob-Bobby, he’d stop being so reluctant to join them on the other side. All these years, and the older man was still more stubborn than, well, anything. If only the old bastard would quit pussy footing around their supposedly nonexistent lust for each other, because it’s not like he would ever be with that deceased wife of his that was murdered by his own hand… and after repeating that last bit in his mind, maybe he was being a bit too jaded about this, but come on, that marital relationship was nothing but the deceit of a cupid’s arrow, while the feelings they had for each other was fucking _real_ , goddess-dammit!

“Dad…?”

Oh, right… he wasn’t alone.

Ahem.

Moving on.

“Did you say something?”

Sam gave him a deadpanned glower.

“I said ‘you still owe me fifty bucks’.”

He paused, absorbing that statement before realizing it was nothing but sarcasm.

“…Hey!”

“A little late there, Winchester,” the psychic bitch dryly commented.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you killed me.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t hear him even after the floor creaked.”

“I can’t believe I had to clean up _your_ body fluids _all by myself_.”

“I can’t believe you three are congregating in my house when you know there’s a goddess watchin’ your asses.”

They scrutinized him.

John shrugged. “She told me you two had something to tell me,” he explained, looking in Sam and Dean’s direction.

His eldest pointed an index finger upwards in an ‘ah ha’ gesture. “Yeah, we saw mama at our old house.”

He felt his eyebrow ridge lift from amazement. “Really? She was a ghost then?”

“You know,” Dean muttered, “I still have no idea.”

“Either way, she’s apparently very knowledgeable on your…” Sam offered a humorous smile, “…one true love.”

His cheeks flushed at the tease, and when the older brother laughed, John reached into his sleeve and threw a scalpel at him, missing his head by a few centimeters, though that was on purpose. After all, he never missed. He wasn’t bragging, just stating truth.

Missouri sighed, muttering under her breath, “If they stay much longer, I’ll need a new house.”

He glanced at her with a sheepish grin as he retrieved the weapon, asking Dean, “So what did she say exactly?”

“Um, Sammy?”

The younger man shook his head at the other’s awful memory while answering, “Mother said to stop being such a whiny bitch and make a move already, unless you want to spend eternity alone. She sounded pretty annoyed.”

“She was so fucking awesome!” Dean added.

John fell back on the rocking chair and chuckled. “That’s definitely Mary. And she’s right.”

“About what?” Dean wondered with a slanted head.

He fisted a hand and slammed it against his chest, a determined smile gracing his lips. “About not accepting eternity alone. I’ll get Robert to finally stop denying his feelings. I’m tired of dancing around the obvious.”

“But to do that,” Sam butted in with cynicism like the asshole he was, “you’ll need to get You-Know-Who’s permission.”

“Isn’t Voldemort a book character?”

They studiously ignored the regenerative immortal.

“I don’t have to listen to Her as I currently am, but that’s fine. I‘m not above begging on my knees to get what I want. Besides, Azazel-bastard is more focused on you, Sam. At this point, I’m just a pawn he’ll use later in the game.”

“A game the demon will lose,” Missouri spoke up, entering her kitchen.

Dean finished their conversation with, “I really like Uncle Bobby, so do whatever it takes for him to accept our proposal.”

“And I know _exactly_ what to do…” he grinned mischievously, teeth in full view.

 

 


End file.
